I read these posts while sitting at Barnes & Noble trying to write something for The Daily Heretic that didn't have anything to do with the stories in this series. In Revisited, Praying Medic wrote:
"As soon as I began speaking, I sensed a strong presence of God's glory being released. I saw a think cover of dark clouds in the spirit that were pierced by a shaft of light. An opening appeared in the clouds that gave way to a small hole of blue sky overhead..."This was the first parallel with my own story that caught my attention. In Healing at Circle K, he wrote: ..."I explained all this to the lady behind the counter and we started talking about chronic pain. Like the pain she has in her knee. (Cue spooky music)."
When I read this, I said "Woah! Oh my God!" rather louder than people sitting alone with headphones should speak in public.
Before I had a chance to glance around embarrassedly to see if anyone noticed, Dad took me back to a dream. I was walking out on my coach and team. Flipping the lights off behind me. But my Dad wasn't following like I'd expected. You will experience the urge to abandon something I'm not ready to move on from. There's something of value here...
The Hints of Failure series is being written because I read Praying Medic's stories; they broke down walls that were preventing me from listening to God. I'm not sure where the stories are going - I've not seen their ends yet. But maybe they'll break down some more walls, and we'll walk away more intimate with our Father.
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Part 3: The Knees
My sister, Brittany, is a sophomore at Spokane Falls Community College (SFCC) and plays libero for their volleyball team.
She’s really freakin’ good.
Named regional defensive player of the week three times this season, and voted first team all conference libero and, she helped lead her team to the North West Athletic Association of Community Colleges (NWAACCs) tournament. (*This just in: She was voted MVP and broke her school's record for digs in a season. Bad ass!)
The top four teams from each region met in Gresham, OR, November 21 to 24, to vie for the coveted NWAACC championship title. On the last day of the tournament, players from across the region named 1st or 2nd team all conference joined to play the “All Star” exhibition game.
The top four teams from each region met in Gresham, OR, November 21 to 24, to vie for the coveted NWAACC championship title. On the last day of the tournament, players from across the region named 1st or 2nd team all conference joined to play the “All Star” exhibition game.
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| Brittany and our Dad at NWAACCs |
The second update read simply “Brittany hurt her knee.”
Immediately, I remembered her senior year of high school, when she tore her left ACL and meniscus mid-way through the season. “Was it her ACL? Which knee? Is she OK?”
“Not sure,” the text replied.
As with my friend Kendal in Part 1, I was stuck. I had no way of reaching Brittany and laying hands. So, with one successful spirit travel under my belt, I sat on my bed cross legged once again and asked Dad to take me to her. Again, the craving hit and I knew to put my hands on my right knee.
A few days later, an MRI confirmed Brittany’s ACL (her right one) was torn.
For those new to The Daily Heretic, let me catch you up on some knee stats: I've torn my own ACL twice playing volleyball. First, my freshman year of college. Again, five years later last Spring. (Here's a blog post about it.)
Many friends have suggested, perhaps you guys should stop playing volleyball. I must say, this is a rational thought. But when you're really good at something you love, something you've dedicated years to practicing, the thought of quitting is gut wrenching to say the least.
Until recently, when people asked me about myself, I'd say "I'm a volleyball player." That stopped when it occurred to me, I'm only a volleyball player as long as I'm playing volleyball. This forced me to ask myself, when I can't play volleyball, who am I?
The shift from temporary identity to eternal identity is earth shaking. The shift from volleyball player to healer, apostle, giver, lover, bride... it hasn't been easy for me. Even though these eternal, Christ decreed identities are indescribably better, I couldn't have been convinced until I experienced them myself. In fact, there comes a point in every day I need to be re-convinced.
Just before Thanksgiving, my parents and I drove to Gresham, OR, where we met with Brittany and her team to watch NWAACCs. Several parents shook hands with mine and shared dismay at Brittany’s injury. I listened while they reminisced about the work and dedication she committed to her team and sport. I watched Brittany take stats on the bench while a younger girl played her position.
Her team lost their first match, but rallied to win their second and play another day. I wrote about the last tournament I went to in Living The Dream Part 1. I didn’t really enjoy the experience, I must say. The spiritual climate of the gym was thick with judgement, condemnation, oppression, and I didn’t know how to respond.
For those new to The Daily Heretic, let me catch you up on some knee stats: I've torn my own ACL twice playing volleyball. First, my freshman year of college. Again, five years later last Spring. (Here's a blog post about it.)
Many friends have suggested, perhaps you guys should stop playing volleyball. I must say, this is a rational thought. But when you're really good at something you love, something you've dedicated years to practicing, the thought of quitting is gut wrenching to say the least.
Until recently, when people asked me about myself, I'd say "I'm a volleyball player." That stopped when it occurred to me, I'm only a volleyball player as long as I'm playing volleyball. This forced me to ask myself, when I can't play volleyball, who am I?
The shift from temporary identity to eternal identity is earth shaking. The shift from volleyball player to healer, apostle, giver, lover, bride... it hasn't been easy for me. Even though these eternal, Christ decreed identities are indescribably better, I couldn't have been convinced until I experienced them myself. In fact, there comes a point in every day I need to be re-convinced.
Just before Thanksgiving, my parents and I drove to Gresham, OR, where we met with Brittany and her team to watch NWAACCs. Several parents shook hands with mine and shared dismay at Brittany’s injury. I listened while they reminisced about the work and dedication she committed to her team and sport. I watched Brittany take stats on the bench while a younger girl played her position.
Her team lost their first match, but rallied to win their second and play another day. I wrote about the last tournament I went to in Living The Dream Part 1. I didn’t really enjoy the experience, I must say. The spiritual climate of the gym was thick with judgement, condemnation, oppression, and I didn’t know how to respond.
During SFCC’s second game, I began to notice the same oppressive spirits in the air. This time, however, I noticed I was affecting the climate, opposed to the climate affecting me. I watched the girls from each team being attacked with fear and doubt as they went back to serve. Mistake after mistake I saw caused not by lack of skill, but by spirit attacks on identity and worth.
I closed my eyes and quietly began to hum. God showed me a blanket of dark, thick clouds over the volleyball court. I opened my eyes to watch the game, still humming. My physical eyes saw no clouds, but they remained in the space at the front of my mind where images in my imagination are played.
While humming, watching the girls play beneath the inky clouds, I asked God to cleanse me of bias. This was likely made easier with Brittany not playing. I wanted the teams to play and win based on their own skill and effort, with no impact from the spirit realm. That included me uplifting one team while down-casting the other.
While humming, watching the girls play beneath the inky clouds, I asked God to cleanse me of bias. This was likely made easier with Brittany not playing. I wanted the teams to play and win based on their own skill and effort, with no impact from the spirit realm. That included me uplifting one team while down-casting the other.
I began to speak in tongues. Usually, I’m hesitant and embarrassed doing this in public, but it was a crowded, rowdy, echoing gym. No one noticed. As I spoke, words and declarations streamed through my mind. I think - this has only recently begun happening and I haven’t explored it or talked to anyone with experience yet - God was interpreting the language I was uttering.
I released life and joy, casted out fear and condemnation, commanded angels to show demons the exit. While this was happening, I closed my eyes once again. I watched as a tear ripped through the cloud blanket and a beam of light streamed through. The rip grew into a large hole, bursting with light. The blanket lifted and thinned.
I released life and joy, casted out fear and condemnation, commanded angels to show demons the exit. While this was happening, I closed my eyes once again. I watched as a tear ripped through the cloud blanket and a beam of light streamed through. The rip grew into a large hole, bursting with light. The blanket lifted and thinned.
As I continued to watch the game, both teams seemed to shed a weight they didn’t realize they carried. Brittany’s team won, but it was no easy task. Each point was a battle, and each team experienced joys and successes that gave them hope to win. Throughout the game, I’d stop praying and simply watched. Periodically, the image of clouds returned. The clouds would sink back down, thickening and contracting the light. I simply remembered the burst of light and the angels I’d set to work, and immediately the clouds shrank back and the light increased.
Between games and whenever we had a spare moment, I laid hands on Brittany’s knee. We talked about who Jesus is and what that means about who we are. About all the healing he demonstrated, and the authority and power he released over us to do the same and more. We talked about the Holy Spirt. “You know, you are mighty. The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you,” I told her.
“He does?” She asked wonderingly.
Now, my sisters (Brittany’s a twin!), went to Young Life for years, and several youth groups to boot. “No one’s told you that?” I asked, incredulous.
She smiled and laughed, shaking her head. “No one told me!”
Though we were persistent, Brittany felt nothing happen in her knee. Unlike Kendal, she felt no tingling or warmth or swimming blood. Swelling didn’t decrease, range of motion didn’t improve, and her pain level remained the same.
“I’m going to keep hoping,” I told her. “I want you to do the same. Hope to be healed by the end of the tournament. Hope to play in the all star game. Hope that you will get a new ACL without having surgery. There’s no such thing as getting your hopes up. We can’t out-hope God.”
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“I’m going to keep hoping,” I told her. “I want you to do the same. Hope to be healed by the end of the tournament. Hope to play in the all star game. Hope that you will get a new ACL without having surgery. There’s no such thing as getting your hopes up. We can’t out-hope God.”
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Awesome story. It's so encouraging to read about what you're doing and what you're learning. Keep going!
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